


In The Dark of the Night, A Candle Bright (... People Who Give It Flesh And Blood)

by Aoife



Series: 31 Days @ LJ: 2013 [31]
Category: Anthropomorphism, Honor Harrington Series - David Weber
Genre: Community: 31_days, Dreams as Communication Methods, Other, Star Nations in Human Form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Aoife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psychological transference and processing of trauma through dreams is a rather abstract thing.  Tom Theisman wouldn’t have thought himself the sort to engage in it.  Apparently, he’s wrong...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Dark of the Night, A Candle Bright (... People Who Give It Flesh And Blood)

"Your prize, Admiral. She isn't worth what you've paid for her, I assure you."

The voice that spoke had to make this some sort of dream. That was the only thought Tom could manage. Because Oscar Saint-Just had bled out at his feet hours ago and there certainly hadn't been a battered, bleeding woman chained to the walls of the odious little man’s office when Tom had finally had the gratification of putting a pulser to his head and executing him.

If there had been, he might have thought twice, drawn the monster's death out; made it more painful instead of the mercifully quick thing it had been. But here Saint-Just wears a demonic visage. Tom feels no compunction about unloading a full magazine of pulser darts into the other man before turning to help the woman that his mind has positioned in pride of place, displayed like a butterfly pinned to a specimen board.

 _She_ is important, this nameless woman. He knows her, cherishes her, would do almost anything for her. Yet his mind shies away from telling him who she is even as he lets her down from the manacles and tends her wounds. No medics have come despite Tom’s having called.

She’s still breathing, her pulse weak and thready, and he begs and pleads with her to hold on, promises her heaven and all the stars as her playground if only she’ll live. He tells her he doesn’t care what she’s done to survive, what’s been done to her battered body. He swears he’ll rebuild her honour if that is what she needs to find the will to live.

He wakes from the dream with the memory of his body wrapped protectively around hers. He can almost feel the feverish heat of her skin. He is sworn to her. Has been vowed to her service since before he came of age. And he can feel it, her name on his lips. but it won’t come, won’t be spoken aloud. No, it’s not safe to name her. Not outside of the dreamlands. Not yet. Not till …

 _Not till what?_ she whispers.


End file.
